


hands learn more than minds do

by thearcherballet



Category: Dimension 20 (Web Series), Fantasy High
Genre: (being touch-starved is a big quarantine mood), (mostly bc idk what to do with that piece of information), Anxiety, Character Study, MOTHERS: THE BACKBONE OF THE BAD KIDS, Other, Post-Canon, Touch-Starved, anyway this is riz gukgak-centric and you better love it, avoiding friends to avoid feelings like neo in the matrix, i'm making up some Gukgak family lore, nearly all canon parents are mentioned or make an appearance, no mention of the nght yrb, post-Spring Break, side figayda, side gorgug/zelda, side kristen/tracker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:02:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24377671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thearcherballet/pseuds/thearcherballet
Summary: When he misses a hint it’s the same as missing a step when climbing a flight of stairs, followed by falling on your ass and making a fool out of yourself in front of everyone around you. Except the people around you are people with expectations and hopes, all pinned on Riz following through on his “uncanny” instincts.And then it’s like— he’s spent such a long time dedicated to one thing, making himself revolve around it and devoting every waking hour to it, that he realizes the planet has kept rotating and thrown him out of orbit.Riz doesn’t know if he’s ready to be ejected out of this plane just yet.--a Riz Gukgak character study, or the author has been feeling emo about riz gukgak and his friends for Too Long
Comments: 1
Kudos: 57





	hands learn more than minds do

**Author's Note:**

> tw for anxiety, mention of parental death  
> \--  
> This is my first D20 fanfic, barely edited, and more so my thoughts on Riz being an anxiety-ridden goblin who loves expressing affection through small actions and being physical, yet being incredibly self-conscious about it. Hope you like it. Title from Sarah Kay's poem "Hands."  
> I made a playlist for this fic, please check it out on Apple Music and get Big Emo: https://music.apple.com/us/playlist/hands-learn-more-than-minds-do/pl.u-4JomK29CM68V5J

_ Hands learn more than minds do, hands learn how to hold other hands, _

_ how to grip pencils and mold poetry, how to tickle pianos and dribble a basketball, _

_ and grip the handles of a bicycle _

_ how to hold old people, and touch babies _

_ I love hands like I love people, _

_ they’re the maps and compasses in which we navigate our way through life, _

_ some people read palms to tell your future, but I read hands to tell your past, _

_ each scar marks the story worth telling, each calloused palm, _

_ each cracked knuckle is a missed punch or years in a factory, _

_ now I’ve seen Middle Eastern hands clenched in Middle Eastern fists _

_ pounding against each other like war drums, _

_ each country sees their fists as warriors and others as enemies _

_ even if fists alone are only hands. _

_ But this is not about politics; no hands aren’t about politics. _

_ This is a poem about love, and fingers. _

- **Sarah Kay, Hands**

* * *

Riz has never cared for his hands. Sure, they’re useful, but lately they’re always sweaty and he’s taken to keeping them in his pockets anytime he can. 

It’s a week into this experiment when he realizes he’s been waking up in bed with his hands outstretched, reaching for something. He tries to remember what he’s reaching for, but it’s fleeting as dreams are wont to do. 

Sometimes Riz wakes up and thinks he’s back in the Hangvan in the Celestine sea, his bed swaying and the taste of saltwater at the tips of his lips. Other times, it’s not as pleasant and he believes he’s trying to shoot an intangible Something. But all of these things skim his mind and leave him in the grasp of his next dream. He doesn’t mind sleeping alone, even after spending over a week knowing he could just get out of his extra-dimensional “room” in the Hangvan and find someone to talk to or crash with.

When Riz was born, his Ma says that he came out of her reaching for someone to hold. He’s seen pictures of himself as a newborn, so much in such a small form, indeed with little claws and trying to grasp at whatever came next, always what’s next. 

There are times when he climbs onto his mom’s bed while she’s doing something mundane like reading the news or playing some crystal game and he lays his head down on her belly, breathing along with her. His heart rate slows down and he lets himself rejoice in this small gesture he can give her. Maybe the closeness brings her memories of when she carried him. Now, he tries to carry her when he can; they shoulder each other through the rough times. Riz hopes his dad is both watching and not, wonders whether it hurts Pok to see his family just breathing and living in a different plane than him. He curls around his mother, a tight question mark, and allows his Ma to subconsciously rub circles on his back. 

When he’s back to breathing normally, and his brain has stuttered to, not a stop but a slog, his ever-loud and omnipresent thoughts a bit quieter, he reaches up and kisses his Ma’s green hand, hoping it communicates all his gratitude and emotions. 

“Always reaching, my kiddo, my baby,” Sklonda says once after he does this, and he smiles.

* * *

If there are two words that perfectly describe Riz Gukgak, they are: stubborn and single-minded (yes, he knows that’s a compound word, he’s a collage pieced together through time). 

These two words make it easy for him to stay on track when committing to a project or case. Everything else fades into a background when he can only focus on one thing. 

As long as Riz can remember, he’s been the responsible one, the one who’s capable and can squirrel his way out of bad situations. What happens when the bad situation is himself? 

He can study conspiracy boards, files, notes that aren’t necessarily connected can be connected, when he’s on the case. He can find details, analyze and remember them, bringing them together when necessary. Then, there’s the rush of adrenaline when he’s so close he can almost taste it. A case closed is, indeed, closure. No loose ends, no frayed edges. 

There are days where he considers leaving all those feelings behind, if only because of the flip side of the coin: he takes no joy in his ability to keep himself zeroed in on whatever he has to do. 

In fact, just because these things come easily for him, it doesn’t mean he enjoys it— the anxiety that comes with this ability when his trail of clues leads to a dead end, the feeling of having neglected those who matter most to him during these moments of near-obsession enveloping him in failure. 

When he misses a hint it’s the same as missing a step when climbing a flight of stairs, followed by falling on your ass and making a fool out of yourself in front of everyone around you. Except the people around you are people with expectations and hopes, all pinned on Riz following through on his “uncanny” instincts. 

And then it’s like— he’s spent such a long time dedicated to one thing, making himself revolve around it and devoting every waking hour to it, that he realizes the planet has kept rotating and thrown him out of orbit. 

Riz doesn’t know if he’s ready to be ejected out of this plane just yet.

* * *

He walks down a hallway in Aguefort, a hand around his briefcase’s handle and another in his pant’s pocket, clenching and unclenching. His free hand itches to do something, even if to pull his hat lower when he feels it’s sliding back and down or to subconsciously tap the locker doors as he passes them. 

It’s a rare moment of the halls being partially empty between classes and he believes he can let go of this pretense. So he lets his claws out of his pocket, slowly remembering the beat of one of Fig and Gorgug’s songs and starts bobbing his head to the rhythm, his palms tapping his thighs. Riz doesn’t believe he has much swag, but for a millisecond he can picture it. 

“Hey, Riz,” a voice says near him and he almost jumps but he’s always been quite perceptive. 

Zelda’s voice isn’t exactly loud, but for once she isn’t whispering or muttering and it surprises him. 

“Hey, Zelda,” he says, turning around to face her. “Something up?”

She tilts her head and kind of hides her face behind her fringe before realizing what she’s doing. 

“It’s just-- it’s like, whatever, but Gorgug’s birthday soon,” she says, wringing her hands in front of her. “I wanted to get him something, but I’ve been so, um, overwhelmed by school and stuff, and I can’t think of something good to get him.” Zelda sighs a bit shakily. “Is that stupid, or what?”

Riz’s hand goes up on its own accord and he grasps her arm, squeezing to let her relax. “It’s okay,” he says. “I’m pretty sure that whatever you get him, he’ll love because it’ll be from you. Gorgug’s not ungrateful.”

He lets go of Zelda, his hand already missing the touching. “If it makes you feel better, by asking me, you’ve reminded me that his birthday’s coming up.”

“Oh,” she exclaims and thinks for a moment. “Well, what if I, like, talked to Gorgug’s parents and we gave him a surprise party?”

Riz smiles. “I think that sounds great. If you need anything, let me know.”

Zelda gives him the briefest of smiles, the one she only uses when her head’s full of Gorgug, and he knows she’s barely noticing he’s there anymore. “Deal,” she says. “I’ve got class now.”

Riz shifts around and gives her a weird salute mixed with a wave. “Same.”

She shuffles around him, and once again Riz is alone in the hallway, wringing hands and sweaty palms and an aching need he doesn’t know the meaning of.

He avoids his friends for the rest of the week, hiding in his office and pretending he’s busy.

* * *

Zelda manages to wrangle her family into putting up tents all around the Thistlespring tree and the Thistlesprings have been working on the food and technology required for the celebration. 

Riz is hustled into the kitchen, as always the first person to arrive, and made to work immediately by Gorgug’s mom. Wilma is a handful of inches shorter than Riz, yet still manages to overwhelm him in the way her gnomish arms envelop around him. Sklonda’s hugs are never lingering, they are just the right amount of Right for Riz.

“Oh, Riz,” Wilma exclaims, voice full of joy. “I’m so glad you’re here. I don’t think the rest of the kids would fit into this kitchen, but you can quite easily help me finish preparing the treats for tonight.”

Without waiting for a response, she rushes him to the counter, which he can actually reach without needing a stool. “I need these onions and peppers chopped, I think you could handle that,” she says with a warm smile that Riz doesn’t fight against reciprocating. Riz doesn’t say anything about the fact that he has more expertise with a gun than he does with a knife.

“Yes, ma’am,” he says instead, because his Ma raised him well. 

Wilma pinches his cheek and bustles about on the stove while Riz washes his hands. These hands which could just as easily be washing dried blood from under his claws, and are going to be making food, nourishing his friends and loved ones. His hands are tender, soft, and he knows he’s going to have wrinkly fingers and knuckles and hands when he grows up, just like his Ma and his grandparents. 

He once asked his Ma why their hands looked the way they did, and she’d said that these were just hands that worked and cared and the evidence of their labor would always be visible in the folds of their skin. 

Riz pats his hands dry with a paper towel and begins chopping, curling his claws into his palms like he’s been taught by his grandpa. 

He can almost hear his Grandpa’s shaky voice saying, “You don’t want to lose your fingers by chopping a carrot. Lose them if you’re risking your life for someone you love,” as he showed off his missing left pinky (lost supposedly while trying to bring himself and his wife to Spire). 

Riz can picture his grandad winking at him, one of the few memories he has of going visiting his grandparents. He has fewer memories of his paternal grandparents, them passing away before Riz was even an idea. But what Riz’s dad told him about his grandad has stuck with him, about the different ways they show love to each other. Riz thinks about his insomnia, his anxiety, and how much he’s willing to give up himself in order to keep his loved ones safe. It might as well be a pinky that he’s losing. 

Riz protects his fingers and suddenly he has piles of peppers and onions.

He lets Wilma instruct him what else he can do, allowing his hands to be useful, to be an extension of his abilities. At some point, Fig peeks her head into the kitchen.

“Riz! You’re cooking,” she says, looking surprised but then she looks thoughtful. “I don’t know why that’s astounding, you and Sklonda are as competent as they come. Not like, you know…” she grimaces.

“Daughter, I am right here,” Gilear’s long-suffering voice says behind Fig. “Riz, could you go and help Figueroth unload her equipment from the car?”

Riz smiles at Gilear but Gilear doesn’t mirror it back, looking surly and exhausted. “Sure,” Riz says.

Wilma pats Riz on the shoulder, giving him permission to run off. Immediately, Fig winds her arm around Riz’s elbows interlocked like it’s nothing. 

“I missed you around school today,” Fig states while pulling him along to Gilear’s car. “You must’ve been busy not hanging-out with us,” she says offhandedly. 

Riz feels slightly guilty for stealthily avoiding them all day, the awareness that he was missed by someone eating at his chest. 

Fig continues as if she didn’t say anything of importance: “I decided to take a peek into a bard class this morning and immediately regretted it. So many musical theater nerds. No one there was cool.”

“Maybe you were the cool factor,” Riz points out. 

He doesn’t mention how much he relishes the familiar and casual way they can interact. That she feels comfortable walking with him, when just a year ago she had to pretend she wasn’t his friend. It feels freeing to know they’re friends and that they worry about him.

Fig smiles. “Damn right I was. In fact, none of those losers would’ve been able to go to the Bottomless Pit and lived to tell the tale, like you did. You’re our little angel.”

Riz has to laugh at that. His dad might be some sort of celestial superspy but Riz constantly struggles to straddle the line between following what’s right and his instincts, which can sometimes hurt others. He might not be evil like the Abernants or Kalvaxus, but he’s been tempted too many times to know that sometimes not everything is black or white. Definitely not an angel.

“Well, your dad was an angel at one point, so things can change,” he tells Fig.

“Okay, then can you be a little angel long enough to help me unload the band equipment?” Fig grins as she continues tugging him along by the elbow. 

“Does anyone say no to you?” Riz says as if he would ever deny his friends anything they asked of him.

“My mom. And sometimes Ayda. What can I say, I’m incredibly charismatic and persuasive,” she says with a raised eyebrow, as cocky as ever. Others might think that Fabian is the one with the swagger and confidence, but Fig is that times 100 because she was, is, and will forever be cool. She just curses more than Fabian.

Fig opens the trunk and the backseat to start unloading.

“You’ve convinced me,” Riz deadpans.

Fig stands there, studying her equipment. 

“Did you forget something?” Riz asks.

“No, just trying to decide what you can actually carry with your weak little arms.”

“I’m stronger than I look,” Riz says. He attempts to stand taller than he actually is, but it’s trumped by his impetuous tone. 

“Listen, I remember that cool shit you did with the centaur back in the Nightmare Forest, but you also had gravity working for you,” she explains. “For now, could you check to see if the Thistlesprings have a dolly or a cart or wagon of some sort in their garage to carry some of this? I don’t wanna break your hands, they’re for solving clues.”

Riz rolls his eyes but walks away towards the Thistlesprings’ workshop, where indeed he finds many carts and wagons. Digby enthusiastically helps him locate and then empty a wagon of technological doodads. He sometimes will go on a tangent talking about the importance of certain gizmo or instrument, and Riz only sort of listens to it.

Riz has never been someone who puts much thought to the mechanical aspect of his everyday life, the way machines and crystals and gears work. He believes if he took the time to sit down and learn all about it, he could probably get the gist of it. For now, he focuses on the things he can do, and do them well. For now, he fetches things for Fig and helps her out how he can. 

* * *

Riz is dragging some cables over to where the music is being set up when the Mordred Manor people start arriving. Adaine greets Gorgug’s parents and makes a beeline towards Riz. 

She doesn’t really have to say anything to Riz; he knows Adaine gets overwhelmed in crowds, and Gorgug’s party is somehow garnering exactly that. 

“Do you need a hand?” she asks, taking her fine, pale hands out of her jacket pockets. Riz has never been to the ballet, but he’s seen pictures and videos of the dancers, the way their fingers articulate like they’re flowing through water yet their bodies can sometimes seem like sharp edges— that’s the way Adaine moves through the world when she thinks no one’s looking. When people are looking, she retreats into herself, shoulders hunched as if she’s trying her best to go about unseen so as to not make a fuss. Adaine leans down to grab the extension cord nearest to her. 

“I’m just making sure there’s power running through these cables so Fig can set up the amps and stuff,” Riz says, wiping his brow. 

Adaine lifts her eyebrows. “You know where all these cables go?” 

“No, but I’m sure I could… figure it out… as I go,” Riz says, uncertain. Fig said she trusted him to figure it out as she went to go and tune the instruments and help the Thistlesprings bring down Gorgug’s drum set.

“I can help. Two heads are better than one,” she states with some confidence, her eyes betraying just how out of her depth she is. 

“C’mon, we’re the Detective Squad, we can figure out where a handful of cables go,” Riz says, eliciting a grin from her. 

They carry and stretch out the cables, the silence between them comforting. When Riz brings up the latest episode of “This Solesian Life” about the nature of ley lines, it’s not for small talk or to occupy the space, but because they can have a quiet moment where they don’t have to be worrying about their latest mission or quest. A nice comma in the middle of a long sentence. 

Riz plopped down in front of the amp, looking at all the labels and names for cable ports while Adaine held the ends of the cords. 

“Do you think the Identify spell would help us in this… task?” Adaine asks.

“Unless there’s secret arcane energy powering these things, I doubt it.” Riz scratches his chin. His hands start fidgeting like when he’s getting frustrated with a task and he feels like he’s been running in circles, chasing his tail. 

He takes a deep breath before realizing that Adaine is following his lead. “Okay, it’s like solving a puzzle.”

“We’re good with puzzles.” Adaine gives him a reassuring smile. “And my time at the AV Club has to count for something.”

With some trial and error, they get the speakers and amps set up, as well as the generator’s extension cord. By the time Fig returns with the rest of Gorgug’s equipment with the help of Ragh and Jawbone, Riz and Adaine have set up most of the electrics for the music area.

“Wow, you’ve done amazing! You two wanna be a part of my band’s crew?” Fig says.

Adaine and Riz look at each other before laughing. 

“I think we’ll leave that to the professionals,” Adaine says while Fig shrugs goodnaturedly. “Do you wanna look for some snacks before helping set up some more?” Adaine asks Riz. 

He nods fast, if only to get away from having to set up a drum set. 

Adaine isn’t really that physically affectionate, but Riz still gives her a shoulder nudge, which really goes up to about her elbow. “We did good.”

“We’re a nerdy team,” she boasts, giving him her hand for a low-five. He readily slaps it.

* * *

Wilma is setting up a sort of buffet line of snacks and assorted foods and beverages so Adaine and Riz stand right next to the tables pretending like they’re helping when really, Riz is sneaking more food into their hands than actually being any help. 

When Wilma goes away to get more food from the kitchen, Adaine relaxes from having to pretend like she’s doing anything. “I’m bad at keeping secrets,” she whispers at Riz.

“Is that rice?” Kristen suddenly says right behind them. “I thought this was a casual party, not a whole dinner. I didn’t even bring Gorgug a gift.”

“There’s also meat of varying degrees of doneness,” Riz informs her. 

Kristen nods with a far away look. 

Riz and Adaine exchange a quick glance. 

“Hey, you okay?” Adaine interjects.

“Oh, yeah. My goddess was bringing me a quick vision. Were you two struggling with cables earlier?”

“Only a little bit,” Riz says.

Kristen once again nods. “It’s okay to not know, and I’m glad you were each other’s comfort during that time of doubt. I prayed to Cassandra that you would not be electrocuted and she delivered,” she says with a laugh. “Now I’m gonna eat some ham off that charcuterie board.”

He watches Kristen navigate the food table without fear, or at least accepting fear as something that’s a part of life, and Riz is incredibly jealous. She moves confidently through her life filled with divine purpose and self-assured in the fact that nothing is certain. Kristen doesn’t toss and turn in the middle of the night pondering all the ways she lacks. She  _ knows _ . 

Meanwhile, Riz can’t get through one night’s sleep without waking up with claws biting into his palms due to all the running thoughts he goes to sleep with, has to endure during his dreams, and then wakes up to. When Riz went to the version of heaven that his dad brought him to, all Riz could think about was how calm everything was, how he could actually let himself think one thing at a time, rather than the jumbled mess that his brain becomes every second on this Material Plane. Sometimes his friends and his Ma will make fun of his “conspiracy boards,” the yarn threads and thumbtacks and pictures that litter his office, but he’s always been too much of a visual learner. He needs these things to keep his mind organized and away from getting tangled in his own body. It becomes too much to hold in his small frame. 

Kristen returns with a plate full of cold cuts. “If Wilma comes back and gets annoyed, you’ll help me hide the plate, yeah?” she says, elbowing Riz. He agrees, because he can do that. This small kindness for his friend. 

And Riz’s brain gets stuck on that word: friend. Kristen has openly said that Riz is her favorite. She freely gives her love and attention to all her friends, hands open and ready to give the ones she adores all she has and is. She’s not afraid of being judged by her friends. Riz remembers when Kristen was coming to terms with her sexuality, even though panicked she still gave all of them a jubilant kiss over how much affection was flowing her way. Throughout Kristen’s crises, she had so much to doubt, but she accepted that their ragtag group would love and accept her. 

And Riz does. Despite all the sometimes gross amount of oversharing Kristen does, she still prays for all of them, gives them her blessings. This is the way Kristen loves. 

She wraps an arm around Riz to tell him about Tracker’s latest letter and he leans into the embrace. 

* * *

Adaine, Kristen, and Riz are sitting on the edge of the makeshift stage Zelda’s family, the Thistlesprings, and Fig managed to set up. Adaine’s legs are folded in criss-cross-applesauce, arms leaning back to stare up at the encroaching night sky, Kristen has her legs splayed with one foot on the stage so she can lean against her knee, and Riz is happily letting his legs sway underneath him with his ankles crossed. They all eat food out of Kristen’s plate and since Riz is sitting in the middle the plate rests on Riz’s thighs. 

At some point, Riz’s mom arrived, but she’s mostly talking with Gilear and Wilma. Fig is behind them doing soundcheck, her fingers expertly strumming her bass as Ayda listens intently and gives her notes on how it’s all sounding. 

They’re all covering their ears after a nasty bit of feedback from the amps when Fabian arrives on the Hangman. 

Fabian strides over to them in a comfortable sweater and his jacket over his shoulder, like nothing bothers or fazes him. Telemaine’s sword, Fandrangor, rests against Fabian’s hip, the hilt glinting against the twinkling lights hanging about the tents. 

“Where is one meant to put the gifts and presents for Gorgug?” Fabian asks in lieu of a greeting. 

“What do you mean?” Riz asks.

“Usually, there’s at least a table where one deposits gifts for the person being celebrated,” Fabian explains like it’s the most common thing in the world. 

Riz, whose mom barely has time to go buy groceries, let alone organize a whole birthday party for anyone, just stares. It’s somewhat of a recurring joke to get cornbread and use a lighter to “blow out the candle” after the time Sklonda forgot it was Riz’ birthday post-overnight shift at the station and she got him the wrapped cornbread from the vending machine down the hall from their apartment.

Beside him, Adaine stiffens and breathes in and out before speaking: “Fabian, not everyone has the courtesy of having birthday parties every year. My parents thought it was a pedestrian and useless thing to celebrate since elves are immortal. I barely even remember my birthday.”

She fiddles with the cuffs of her jacket and Riz gently squeezes her knee and she relaxes. 

“My family would make a cracker sandwich cake. It was— delicious and like, the richest thing ever,” Kristen says with her eyes closed. “They said we should be grateful we got that.”

“What’s a cracker sandwich cake?” Riz dares ask. 

“Oh, it’s when you take saltine crackers, spread some nutella on it, and then add vienna sausages on it. You get so many layers of flavors,” she says earnestly even as Fabian gags at the description.

“You’re all so poor it disgusts me sometimes,” Fabian states and shudders. “I’ll just ask Gorgug’s mom where to put his present, you’re bumming me out. I’m giving you all proper birthday parties in the near future.” 

Fabian approaches the Hangman and takes a wrapped parcel off the seat to bring to Wilma. Riz watches as Wilma fusses over Fabian, and he looks like he’s trying to escape but there’s a small smile peeking out of the corner of his mouth. Fabian loves being shown affection, even when he pretends to find it annoying, like he’s above it all. But Riz finds Fabian the one who easily will give them gifts as a sign of affection, doesn’t like taking credit for his good deeds out of fear of perhaps seeming uncool. In private, Fabian allows his friends to clamber all over him, accepting their care and tenderness and even roughhousing with a big smile on his face. After all they’ve been through, there’s no going back for Fabian to become the kid who’d socked Gorgug in the stomach on their first day of high school. He’s learned to rely more on his friends; in fact, they all have, including Riz. 

Riz painfully remembers the way he viewed friendships:  _ start with the friends,  _ **_then_ ** _ get the clues _ . He somehow managed to get both, even when he struggles with the priorities of clues vs friends. He has to remember that with friends he can talk about other things that don’t have to do with missions or secrets. The only secrets he keeps for now are the ones his friends tell him, about the way Adaine sometimes still has nightmares about her parents and that she misses them every day despite all their wickedness, or how Fig has told Riz that holding hands with Ayda is like discovering a whole new feeling she didn’t know she even had. He collects their whispered confessions and holds them close to his heart. He’s learning he can share some of his own as well, about the pieces he rediscovered had been missing when he met his dad, and the insomnia he suffers sometimes—not due to anxiety, but due to the fear of having what happened to Fig when she was under the influence of the Nightmare Forest happen to him. 

And he offers them a shoulder to cry on, or tissues, or an embrace. He never has the right words to say, but he’s always been a good listener, ready to reach out to the ones he loves—and he does love them, so very much—and be there. 

Always reaching out, like his mom says.

* * *

When Zelda arrives with Gorgug, everyone shouts surprise and Gorgug starts crying. Zelda hugs him tightly, smiling up at him as she sweetly kisses his cheek as many times as she wants. 

Riz grins as Fig starts a riff on her bass to welcome the birthday boy. Kristen leans on Riz with her arm around his shoulders; his own arm is wrapped around Kristen’s waist, returning the gesture and he feels warm from it. Despite her smile, he knows Kristen’s missing Tracker being there, especially as Kristen quickly wipes a tear from her face. 

“I’m so happy Gorgug’s has so many people who love him,” Kristen says and her voice cracks a little bit. Riz reaches for Kristen’s free hand and he squeezes it.

“We love you too, Kristen,” Riz says. Truths are that much easier to express than lies, and there are no lies in Riz’s statement. 

Gorgug takes his time accepting praise and congratulations from people who go to him. He smiles gratefully and with slight disbelief that so many people would appear to celebrate him. The rest of the Bad Kids all remain in the back, letting everyone shower Gorgug with well-deserved felicitations with the exception of Fabian. Fabian joins the members of the Bloodrush team in giving Gorgug noogies and back slaps, gruffly praising and then lifting him up on their shoulders to the chant of “Hoot! Growl!” which everyone joined in on. 

He’s deposited on stage, where Fig plants a big kiss on Gorgug’s cheek before insisting he join the band on at least one song. Everyone in attendance cheers as Fig allows Gorgug to do a fantastic drum solo. 

Ayda joins the cluster of Bad Kids allowing everyone else to revel in their love for Gorgug. “Is this what typically happens during a friend or colleague’s celebration of their nativity? I ask because I’ve been reborn several times and I don’t recall this ever happening in Leviathan.”

Adaine looks at Riz before answering Ayda above the noise of the crowd. “No, it just happens when you’re lucky to have us as friends.”

“Would you celebrate on the day you’re reborn, or the first time you were born?” Kristen muses.

Ayda blinks at Kristen. “You’ve posed a conundrum, as I don’t have records of when I first hatched.”

“You could ask your dad?” Riz tries. 

“I do not think my father is the kind of person who remembers when his children were born or reborn,” Ayda states.

“Fair,” Riz says.

They all turn back to the party and everyone’s giving Gorgug a standing ovation. 

“I don’t think I would like this sort of revelry for my birth,” Ayda says. 

“That’s okay, you could also have a sleepover, or something with just close friends,” Adaine explains. “At least, that’s what I’ve gathered from other people’s birthdays.” 

Ayda nods, perfectly understanding. “It appears we’ve all had what others might call ‘shitty’ birthdays,” she says, stiffly doing the air quotes around shitty. “I’m learning more colloquial ways to curse from Fig. I mostly know pirate curses.”

“You’re doing amazing,” Adaine says genuinely. 

Kristen, who’s been distracted by her crystal-phone, looks up with a mischievous smile on her face. “My gift has arrived.”

Riz stares at her quizzically and a car full of colorful people wearing sequins and feathers and all sorts of glitzy things appears in the backyard. “You got Gorgug drag queens?”

“Well, we did. Ragh, Tracker, and I pooled together some of our money for this,” Kristen says laughing. She then starts pulling them towards the stage. “Come on, let’s dance.”

The Drag Queens perform, lip singing and dancing along to Fig and the Cig Figs songs, and give a blushing Gorgug lap-dances as the Seven Maidens give money to the performers. Kristen hoots and hollers, and the entire party congregates on the dance floor as Fabian and Kristen get involved in a dance-off, which the Queens encourage. Fabian obviously wins, as the Owlbears cheer loudest for him. 

At some point, they just play music and invite everyone to dance. Aided by Zelda’s family offering alcohol (and other substances on the down-low as Sklonda is still around), the partygoers jump and dance and sing along. Riz happily follows along, somehow ending up on Gorgug’s shoulders and yelling along to the songs. 

Riz leans down and plants a kiss on the top of Gorgug’s hair, not caring how sweaty it is. He pats the sides of Gorgug’s head, saying “Happy birthday!” so he hears him.

Gorgug, little snaggle tooth and all, grins at him. “Thank you, Riz. Zelda told me you inspired this whole thing.”

“I barely did anything,” Riz protests. “I hope you’re having a nice time!”

“I’m having a great time,” Gorgug says. “I’m glad you’re here and that you’re my friend, Riz.”

And Riz has to really hold himself back from openly weeping sitting here on the shoulders of one of his best friends. “I got you a birthday present.”

Riz reaches into his pocket, retrieving two wooden pens. “You click them and they become drumsticks.”

Gorgug clicks them and holds them aloft. “This is so cool! What does it say?”

Along the drumsticks, Riz had his engraver write “The Crab King” in edgy cursive. “Just don’t throw them to the audience,” Riz says.

“Never, I’m guarding them forever and only bringing them out on special occasions like tonight,” Gorgug says, clicking the ends so they retract and putting them in his pocket. He clasps Riz’s ankles as a way to hug Riz. “You’re the best.”

Riz accepts the comment with a smile, returning to the dancing around them. The rest of The Bad Kids converge around Gorgug (and Riz), and for a minute it’s just them, laughing and some even crying in ecstasy as they all celebrate being alive and breathing and their hearts pumping, carrying them through this moment.

Riz lets the scene coalesce, as Fabian has Fig enveloped in his sheet, Kristen and Adaine dance back to back with a dance ribbon flying overhead, and Gorgug and Riz swaying to the beat of the music. He blinks as if he could take a picture of the beauty of it all, of his friends, of their reckless abandon in the face of all that is bad in the world. Good, for just this second, is the only thing in the world.

* * *

Riz doesn’t care much for his small, green hands, even as he grasps the strands of Gorgug’s hair, claws and all, but he very much cares about others’. He studies them carefully every day: a clenched hand, a flourish, a joining of two bodies converging at this point. 

Hands can create new forms of art. You praise with your hands open to receive blessings. Hands can play and entertain strangers and loved ones, and find things and grasp and pull threads off a fraying sweater. 

Riz focuses on these wondrous things and not the fact that you can just as easily destroy and forsake and forbid and push away with those same hands. The same could be said of tongues and he doesn’t really care about what he says or what anyone else says: a promise can be unmade, but an action cannot (unless you’re Arthur Aguefort). What people do has repercussions, which in turn ripple through time and affect others. What is said can be taken back, can be apologized over. 

Showing tenderness to your loving parents, silently helping out in the kitchen to help things along, figuring out how equipment works just to make your friend’s life easier, handing friends tools and giving them space to be alone with their thoughts, offering to hide food so as to not get in trouble, gifting your friend a touching birthday present and a big hug—dancing with your friends amidst music and laughter… Those actions could never be taken away. They fill Riz with a silent joy and he guards these moments in his heart, hoping these recipients do the same with his own brand of love.

Riz finds that, at the moment, that’s good enough for him. 

* * *

_ “People show love in different ways. They hug, they kiss, they say sweet things to each other. And I didn’t have a close relationship with my dad. He was a very distant guy. You know, he was first generation in Solace. His parents were goblins out in the Mountains of Chaos. I didn’t get along with him. He was always off working. He was a beat cop off in Bastion City, gone all the time, didn’t have many kind words to say, and I remember when I was an adult, I found this locket when he was an older guy, and it had a picture of me and your aunts and your uncle in it and he just—  _

_ When he was older and he was sick, he told me that he loved me, and he said it was hard for him to say it with words but he never had a hard time saying it with actions. Every time he walked down the street to bring home a little bit of cash for us, keep us fed, keep a roof over our head— when I went out on those missions I thought about the same thing a lot.  _

_ Work is an act of love, and just because you’re a little anxious, you get a little flop sweat, I know and I think your mom knows, and I think your friends know, that you, staying up with your boards at night trying to crack the case… You don’t do that because you don’t care about people. That’s you saying I love you to the people that matter to you most.”  _

_ - _ **Pok Gukgak**

**Author's Note:**

> last quote is from Fantasy High: Sophomore Year, Episode 16 "My Green Heaven," when Brennan decided to give immigrants and people with families of color some rights and make me cry.  
> i'm on tumblr @thearcherballet, i'm on twitter @rizgukgaks. i guess kudos/comment if you enjoyed?


End file.
